


Magical Touch

by Reality 2_0 (reality_2_0)



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 19:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16143878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reality_2_0/pseuds/Reality%202_0
Summary: set mid-90s; She had the power to fuel his anger with a few words and to completely dispel it with a mere touch.





	Magical Touch

“I can’t fucking believe it! Are you fucking kidding me?!”

She could hear him rant the moment she entered the corridor leading to the office where her husband was currently located. She had no idea, yet, what had caused this anger spree, but it was obvious that some aid got chewed out and probably took the burn for something they hadn’t done themselves.

His outbursts weren’t a novelty – actually, they were legendary among the staff – and nobody was more familiar with them than she was. However, she had more, other options available to her for how to deal with it than his staff did. All they could do was to let the anger run its course, to let it wash over them, and to react to the gist of it in a calm manner later on. She, in contrast, could scream back or use her magic on him.

It would depend on the situation at hand whether and how she would get involved today. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to as they had planned to make use of Chelsea’s absence and spend a quiet evening alone.

Having reached the place of action, she found a scene close to what she had expected: Her husband ranting a storm, his face red; a member of his staff standing as far away from him as he possibly could without appearing as if he was cowering when he actually was, and trying not to look like a chastened puppy – not very successfully.

The corpus delicti seemed to be the book her husband was waving around wildly. Due to the movement, it was impossible for her to get a good look at it.

As the aid spotted her, she thought she saw a veil of fear slide across his face. So whatever this was about involved or affected her. Before she would even consider joining her husband in his anger, however, she needed to know its cause. Thus instead of being the aids worst nightmare as he apparently feared, she would be his guarding angel, his savior.

Sending him a short smile, she walked up behind her ranting man, who hadn’t noticed her yet as his back was currently facing the door, and put her hands on his hips before pressing herself against his back. 

The effect was instantaneous. He stilled, stopped speaking mid-sentence; all disgruntled energy drained from him within a blink of an eye.

That was her magic. It didn’t work on anybody else, but it did work on the leader of the free world – nothing to sneeze on, especially since nobody else could do that. It regularly impressed and amazed people.

She had the power to fuel his anger with a few words, and to completely dispel it with a mere touch. Which was probably the reason why his staff feared her: They never knew what it was going to be.

Although she couldn’t see him, she imagined the staff member sighing deeply in relief that she was putting out the fire today.

“Hello, honey,” she said.

After throwing the book on the next best surface, he squeezed her hands, turned around in her arms and returned the embrace.

“Hello, darling,” he said before leaning down to kiss her tenderly, the anger and aid obviously forgotten or ignored.

She prolonged the kiss, playfully bit his lower lip. At the action, he released a soft sound of passion.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked once their lips had parted.

“It’s past seven, and you promised me dinner. Among other things.” There was no mistaking the suggestive implication of the afterthought.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, sighed. “I’m sorry. I forgot we had plans. This damn…”

She pulled down the arm with which he was gesturing in the direction he had thrown the book earlier, and nipped the possible rant at the bud by covering his lips with hers again.

“You can make it up to me by accompanying me home,” she said. “And by not mentioning whatever that is again today.” She pointed at the offending book. “If you want to talk literature, we can discuss Klingon love poetry for all I care, but this book is off limits.” Her tone left no room of any objection.

“Yes, love” was the only acceptable reply.

“Good.” Extracting herself from his embrace, she offered her hand. “Shall we, Mister President?”

“We shall, milady.” He took her hand in his hand guided her out of the room. “So… Klingon love poetry?” He waggled his eyebrows, moving his arm around her shoulder.

She laughed, elbowed him jestingly. “Just how much do you want to spend to the night on the couch?”

“If you join me, I don’t care where we sleep, or not sleep tonight.” He trailed a hand down her side to her hips.

“Down, lover. Dinner first.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He leaned over to nibble at her ear.

There would be no stopping him now that he had gotten in the mood. Not that she really wanted him to stop. She enjoyed flirting with him, loved him seducing her – especially when there was the opportunity for it to lead to so much more.

Tomorrow would be a draining day, but tonight, she wouldn’t waste one tiny thought on trashy books.

The End.


End file.
